


Dear Future Husband

by kookaburrito



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nervousness, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Relationship, Silly, Snake Crowley, Song Lyrics, Teasing, snek boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookaburrito/pseuds/kookaburrito
Summary: Crowley catches Aziraphale humming a sweet song to himself.





	Dear Future Husband

**Author's Note:**

> This tiny fic is inspired by the fanvid I randomly stumbled upon on youtube. Go watch it, it's so cute!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkbb9diEfl0

There is hardly a sin that Crowley practices more than sloth. Sleeping is easily his favorite human hobby, since time stops and you are free to take a break from a life full of wiling. Well, after the Armageddon’t not so much wiling was going on, but Crowley still liked to sleep. And what Crowley especially loved was napping in his snake form. 

With winter fast approaching, lately it’s been rather cold outside. Crowley’s flat wasn’t particularly warm either, so he opted to hanging out almost always in Aziraphale’s bookshop. And Aziraphale has made him a small nest in one of the shelves, where he even attached a heating lamp for reptiles, so that Crowley always felt warm and cozy.

Crowley loved to snuggle there, while Aziraphale read. The angel could read for days, without stopping, forgetting to eat, and Crowley could just as easily sit under the warmth of the lamp for days and feel contented, and, most importantly, home.

Snuggling in his snake nest, Crowley felt happy and peaceful, probably, the first time in his life. There was nothing to run away from, no Hell to face, no wars or plagues to inspect and take credit for, no responsibilities or plans to stop the Apocalypse. There was just warmth, the smell of books and dust, and Aziraphale reading quietly to himself a few feet away, and it was everything that Crowley needed for true happiness.

He has grown to love the nest so much, that he went out and bought Aziraphale an iPod as a gift in return. At first, Crowley considered buying a book, but with Aziraphale having so many of those, it wouldn’t feel as special. He considered flowers - _uh, too forward_ \- and porcelain cups and whatnot. But in the end, he settled for something that was, well, a reminder of himself. 

Crowley knew it was a long shot, since Aziraphale hasn’t even entered the CD stage, clinging to his gramophone and vintage records for dear life. However, an iPod was different, since you could just fill it with music you love and listen when you want it, how you wanted. What sold him on the idea was a picture that sprang to his mind - Aziraphale listening to the iPod and softly shaking his head to the rhythm, while Crowely curiously watched him with one eye in between naps, trying to figure out what song was playing. 

Surely enough, it takes Aziraphale a whole month to get the iPod out of the box, but thankfully he ends up using it sometimes. He doesn’t have the patience to learn the importing process, he just straight up miracles the songs he likes into the device. And God, does he have a ridiculous taste in music, thinks Crowley, but does not judge him out loud. After all, it was his intention to make Aziraphale listen to his tunes in the judgement-free zone of the earphones and make him smile without being subjected to those goddawful melodies himself. 

So it happens one lazy afternoon during a snowy winter day, right after Crowley wakes up from a few-days long nap to find the bookshop empty. Aziraphale is not on his usual spot, and the door to the shop is Closed for visitors, as if someone actually had the intention to visit in this blasted London weather: snowfall, poor visibility and strong wind.

Crowley slithers down the bookshelf and changes rapidly into his human form, putting his glasses on automatically. Aziraphale is nowhere near to be seen, so Crowley makes his way upstairs in the little flat. There is a delicious smell in the air. His stomach is rumbling, he has been asleep for too long, and his newly-present human body felt hungry. He would love something to nibble on, hopefully, Aziraphale is fixing something for dinner right now. Crowley could easily will the hungriness to go away, but filling his stomach with something home-made after a long nap was usually far more satisfying. Especially if this was something Aziraphale made from scratch.

Climbing the stairs, Crowley thinks about fish stew, cottage pies, mulled wine and ginger cookies. What were the chances that Aziraphale was making something of the sort, some comforting wintery food?

When he reaches the top stair, Crowley hears a voice. That definitely belongs to Aziraphale. Ah, so he’s in the kitchen, and that is good.

Before Crowley’s eyes catch up on the image, his ears discern the words of the song that Aziraphale is humming to himself.

_...Here's a few things_

_You'll need to know if you wanna be_

_My one and only all my life…_

Crowley’s eyes widen. What’s that? Aziraphale is singing along to something...

He takes off his glasses.

Crowly can now spy Aziraphale moving around in the kitchen, behind a half-open door. His hair is ever so fluffy, and he’s wearing that ridiculous apron cooking something, moving in a bee line between fridge, counter and sink. He has the earbuds of the iPod in, and is smiling wild and shaking to the rhythm of the song. This is probably why he doesn’t notice Crowley a few feet away watching him intently from the darkness of the corridor.

_Take me on a date_

_I deserve a brake_

_And don't forget the flowers every anniversary_

_'Cause if you'll treat me right_

_I'll be the perfect wife_

_Buying groceries_

_Buy-buying what you need_

Crowley’s heart pounds. He knows this song, they both have heard it when they were eating desserts last month at the cafe down the road, and he caught Aziraphale nodding along with the rhythm absentmindedly. He didn't know Aziraphale liked it so much that he added it into his iPod. It’s just a silly silly song, but Crowley can’t help it. He feels his whole body soften.

_You gotta know how to treat me like a lady_

_Even when I'm acting crazy…_

“Oh I am a little, am I not?” Aziraphale proceeds to say in a normal voice, giggling a little to himself. Crowley watches him put some kind of spice in the dish he’s cooking, and can’t help but smile a little too. “Angel…” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

_Dear future husband…_

_Here's a few things you'll need to know if you wanna be_

_My one and only all my life_

Crowley’s stomach flips at that, actually hearing the teasing and laughter and giddiness and hope in Aziraphale’s voice makes him so happy. Even if this is just a silly lyric. Even if they haven’t yet admitted to each other their feelings, and he was only hopeful that Aziraphale finally felt like he could catch on. Even if they were dancing around each other for at least a few thousand years. This felt like a promise of a bright future.

_Dear future husband_

_If you wanna get that special lovin'_

_Tell me I’m beautiful_

_Each and every night…_

“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” murmurs Crowley to himself. He takes a moment just to admire Aziraphale’s profile, his beautiful curls, his lovely nose, those soft hands, that were stirring something, pouring love into some delicious food they will soon eat, because this was the way to go in their post-Apocalypse human world. And one of his favorite features of Aziraphale: that smile, that could light up the whole world, but especially his eyes, where one could get easily lost in. Crowley took a few steps forward, entranced and charmed by the image of Aziraphale dancing a little to himself in the kitchen, while preparing a meal.

If he’s going to stand there creepily any longer, he might combust from emotions.

_Future husband-_

“You called?” says Crowley nonchalantly, walking into the kitchen with his usual swagger, as if he wasn’t spying on Aziraphale just a few seconds before.

“Oh, oh- Crowley! I didn’t- I wasn’t...” Aziraphale is beyond flustered, when he sees Crowley suddenly appear in the kitchen, and takes the earbuds out harshly, as if they were some demonic invention.

“Wasn’t what?” asks Crowley, a picture of innocence, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and playing with it in his hands.

“Nothing. I’m making stew, I just, I didn’t hear you come in, that’s all. Thought you were still asleep,” Aziraphale rambles, pulling at the collar of his shirt, all the while blushing furiously.

“My favorite!,” says Crowley, perching himself on the stool, and intently watching Aziraphale adding some finishing touches to the soup. 

“You better have some space for it then, I made enormous quantities,” Aziraphale tastes the soup and hums in satisfaction.

“ _You better love me right,_ ” sings Crowley to himself, barely a whisper, but still, Aziraphale hears him, and turns around.

“You… What did you just...”

“So how about that stew then?” Crowley eases the tension with a mischievous grin, and enjoys the way Aziraphale fumbles about with the plates and spoons and pots.

A sudden calm and warmth envelops Crowley, as he realizes that he’s indeed waiting to be fed by his future husband. And that getting Aziraphale to become his husband one day was the most effable plan since the Garden of Eden.


End file.
